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“That cop looked pretty convinced.”

“Cops are always convinced. Until you convince them otherwise.”

“They even took my Bible, Jer,” Johnny lamented. “And my copy of The Watchtower. I feel kinda naked without my Bible and my Watchtower.” He held out his hands to show his friend what he meant. They looked empty without his trusty reading material.

“Oh, to hell with your Bible and your Watchtower,” Jerry growled, getting a grip on himself. He was turning into a mushy crybaby and he hated it. “We gotta get out of here. I’m not going to sit in prison for a crime I had nothing to do with.”

“You mean… escape?” asked Johnny, his already cow-like eyes widening even more.

“Sure! We got rights. I’m not going to sit here paying for some other goon’s crime.” He glanced around at the cell they were confined to. “There’s gotta be a way to spring this joint.”

“I tried the window. Those bars are pretty solid, Jer.”

Jerry walked over to said window and gave those iron bars a good yank. He had to admit his partner’s words were as solid as the bars: they didn’t budge.

He sank down on his own metal bunk and gave himself up to thought. And soon his little gray cells were buzzing with ideas.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

Ted Trapper happened to be passing by his neighbor Tex’s house when he happened to be glancing in through the window and happened to see his neighbor take a large painting off his wall.

It was a painting of a gnome, and Ted blinked as he caught a glimpse of the smiling impish figure, immortalized in vivid gorgeous color.

Before he could stop himself, he was stepping into the front yard and moments later his nose was plastered against the window, watching Tex maneuver the painting this way and that, until finally he became aware of being watched and looked up. He walked over to the window and opened it, then directed a pointed look at the smudge his neighbor’s nose had made on the pane and frowned censoriously.

“Ted?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“Is that… a Metzgall?” Ted asked, his voice slightly choked with emotion.

Tex’s frown deepened. “What do you know about Jerome Metzgall?”

“Only that he’s the most accomplished painter of gnomes in the universe,” said Ted, inadvertently licking his lips at the sight of a real Metzgall only a couple of feet away.

Moments later he was inside and holding the painting in his hands, admiring the artistry, the vividness of the colors, the play with light, and the artist’s impeccable technique. “It’s gorgeous,” he announced unreservedly. “Absolutely gorgeous, Tex.”

“Got it from the master himself,” said Tex. “Paid a fraction of the price. Metzgall said he could sense I was a real gnome fan, and decided to slash his regular asking price.”

“Amazing,” said Ted, and he meant it. The mild-mannered accountant was, just like his neighbor Tex, a big fan of garden gnomes. He had them in all shapes and sizes. He had big gnomes and small gnomes, fat gnomes and skinny ones, even pretty ones and ugly ones—though to him all gnomes were beautiful. He’d been dreaming of a Metzgall for years, but the price was a little too steep for his budget. Plus, his wife Marcie would probably kill him if he even considered spending their hard-earned money on a real Metzgall. And even though he liked gnomes, he didn’t think he’d enjoy being bludgeoned to death with one.

“Do you think I should go and see him?” he asked now.

Tex’s sunny mood darkened to some extent. “You want to get one for yourself?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, before he could stop himself.

Tex’s demeanor changed. He grabbed the painting from his neighbor’s hands and offered him another frown instead.

Ted swallowed. He hadn’t forgotten how Tex had only recently accused him of grand theft gnome, and even though the misunderstanding had been cleared up, and Ted declared innocent of the terrible offense, it was clear that the episode still lingered.

“I think you better leave now, Ted,” said Tex coldly.

“Oh, all right,” said Ted. “You–you’re not mad at me, are you, Tex?”

“Not mad,” said Tex, though he sounded pretty mad to Ted. “Not mad at all. But I’ve got things to do, so…”

“Oh, sure, Tex. I’ll be on my way.” He cast one final glance at the painting, but then Tex quickly held it behind his back, making it obvious Ted’s company was no longer wanted.

With a sense of regret, Ted left the house and returned home. He needed to walk his dog Rufus. And he needed to think. Think hard.

Chapter 22

That Roomba was still rumbling through the house, and we were still hiding in our respective safe places, to wit: I was on top of the couch, Dooley was hiding on a bookshelf, Harriet had escaped onto the windowsill, and Brutus lounged on one of the high kitchen stools. All in all we were safe for the present, but that isn’t to say we weren’t feeling the strain—intensely!